“Okay, so to fight, we – Oof!” Lostheart barreled into me at full speed, knocking me over. “Very good,” I complimented, “it’s as if you already know how to fight.” But…what if she did? She grew very still, her eyes unfocused. After a few heartbeats, she blinked.

“Sorry, I guess I was too excited.”

“That’s alright,” I said, barking a laugh, “that’s good. You’ll learn quickly.” I shifted into a crouch. “So here’s how to do it…”

A fortnight had gone by, and Lostheart had learned how to fight, how to hunt, and the way of life the Sharpfang clan. Only another sun had passed, and she knew every single member of the clan – that was thirty-odd wolves. Some thought of her as a stroke of luck, a prodigy. Others saw her as a threat. She learns too fast, they warned. Beware; she may seek to overtake the clan. But those who thought of her that way soon turned around.

“Granitefur!” Lostheart called. The morning ritual had just finished, and I was still drowsy. She strode over to where I lay, lugging a fawn behind her. “I can’t eat this, because it’s too big, but you can eat it.” She said cheerfully. I licked the top of her head.

“Thanks.”

Lostheart became a close friend and student. She was an excellent hunter, and she seemed to know a lot about strategy, for she took part in planning the attack on the other clan, pointing out the best way to attack when the terrain was unknown. She charmed the fur off many clan members, and had made friends with the entire pack. But when the sun fell, and the moon rose, she seemed to change from a young cub to someone five times her age. As she stared up at the moon, I always tried to guess what she was thinking of.

“Since, as you tell me, purebloods have magic, why don’t we use it to slow the attackers? That way, fighting will be easier for everyone, and the rival clan will be taken out faster.” Lostheart’s voice drifted with the wind, passing me as I got a drink from the river. She was extremely involved in planning, indeed.

“Great idea, Lostheart.” Silverpelt’s tone was proud. She was our prodigy, after all.

“Granitefur.” Fleetshadow had snuck up on me as I’d eavesdropped on the planning. I jumped, and he chuckled. “Listening, eh?” Embarrassed, I looked down. “It’s alright, he’ll tell it to us in a few moments.”

As soon as I’d returned to camp with Fleetshadow, my sister, Graniteheart, only a few winters older than Lostheart, bounded up to me. Her fighting spirit could equal ten other wolves, when she was worked up.

“Come on!” She whined, bouncing up and down. “He’s gonna start soon. You’re the last ones.”

“Alright, alright.” I muttered, and took a seat next to her and Fleetshadow. Silverpelt waited patiently on the Alpha’s perch.

“Fellow wolves of Sharpfang, in a few suns, we will drive out the Longclaw clan and take what is rightfully ours: the forest.” Murmurs of excitement spread throughout the clan. “Lostheart here—” Lostheart dipped her head, her expression unfathomable—“—she has greatly helped in the planning.” The clouds cleared, and the sun shone upon the camp, adding a lustrous gold to the silver of Silverpelt’s fur. “And here’s how it will go…”